‘You don’t think I will see its best out here?’

‘Well… it is rough, sir. We serve as well as able and praise the God-Emperor. But this is a swamp, and all is tainted and foul. The vids always seem so bright and clean.’

‘Ah,’ I said, and grinned. ‘But this is to be a different sort of pict. I want to show real heroes, soldiers who wade through the muck to get the job done.’

‘Like Flight Commander Shard, sir?’

‘You tell me,’ I said. ‘Do you think her a hero?’

‘I have nothing but respect for Flight Commander Shard,’ Plient replied. ‘She is a hero, but with all due respect, sir, perhaps not one best suited to a pict.’

‘We will see,’ I said. ‘I’d wager differently. She will be the most famous member of the von Shard family.’

‘If you say so, sir,’ Plient replied. ‘Might I offer some advice?’

‘Of course.’

‘Refrain from mentioning her family.’

Chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

Dusk encroached by the time we reached Planetary Governor Dolos’ château.

Technically Bacchus’ sun still hung in the sky, but foetid gases bubbling from the swamp water formed a mist that diffused any lingering daylight. The crepuscular light lent a certain gravitas to the towering edifice. The château’s looming silhouette rivalled the tallest hab-block in size, and its shadow swallowed the grounds. The swamps and lagoons of Bacchus rendered conventional construction problematic, as structures of any substantial weight were swallowed by the quagmire. Indeed, the only indigenous fauna of any stature were the gigantic mandack trees, and that was solely due to how deeply the plant was embedded in the bedrock. A fully grown specimen’s upper branches stretched nearly a mile, and its roots dug far deeper, extending for leagues beneath the crust.

Governor Dolos had elected to take one of the towering trees as her residence. The vast trunk had been hollowed, lights twinkling from a score of windows carved into the bark. The plant seemed alive enough, though the foliage was thinner in the mist-wreathed upper branches. A foyer extended from the tree’s base, illuminated by lanterns filled with dancing fireflies, and through its arched doors a procession of officers and ground crew were in near-permanent migration. They were interspersed by servants clad in Dolos’ personal livery: a winged insect picked out in iridescent shades. A squad of Imperial Guard hurried past, their boots churning the ground and crushing the last desperate stands of what once might have been a flowerbed.

‘Here we are, sir. Planetary Governor Dolos’ private château.’

I glanced to Flight Sergeant Plient, who was struggling under the weight of my cases, the larger of which he could barely lift off the ground.

‘Private?’ I asked, nodding to the doorway’s unending procession.